


The playground

by wolf_lover



Series: What was it that brought them together? [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolf_lover/pseuds/wolf_lover





	

There was a man standing at his living room window watching the people outside.    
   
Harry, a sorrowful man of remarkable achievement, stood alone in his own home watching children playing in the playground not far from his house with his aching emerald orbs. His sanguine hair he got from his mother danced lightly in the coming from the open window. He tried to deny the stirrings in his heart as he traced a finger along his silver necklace.He wore cinereal clerical robes, humbly adorning his frame. His russet hair was bound back from his face, complementing his hollow lily-white visage. He stood, awaiting his love.    
   
It must have been fate in mortal form that brought them together. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on him that they were meant to be. From then on, Harry was sometimes needy and close, but then suddenly cold and fearful. Dean also behaved strangely, one moment adoring, scathing the next. That was how it was to this very day. 

Harry spotted Dean further down on the street, closer to the playground. His lovely caramel blonde  hair was tied at the back of his head. His orbs were turned toward the kids playing, hidden from Harry's sight, but he knew and loved their morose green hue. He was dressed in his own unique fashion, a style unlike that of anyone else Harry knew. He had a toned but slender body covered with atramentaceous skin. As Harry stepped out of his house and drew nearer to were Dean stood, he caught a note of Dean's familiar scent of lingering iron and steel. His emerald green eyes softened. It always reminded him of the time they shared. "my hunter," he called, walking towards him.    
   
He glanced back at Harry before again returning his green gaze to the children. "Harry," he whispered.    
   
Harry shrugged and said only, "Let's go." They began their leisurely walk along the play ground.    
   
Neither of them spoke for some time. It wasn't uncommon for them -- they'd exchange poker-faced glances and walk in silence for hours, until finally, they somehow touched, and overwhelmed by pain and loneliness they would turn to each other. It was no different this time. They had tracked halfway down the playground. down to where the park begins. before Dean turned to Harry and whispered, "I waited a long time for today. I... I missed you a lot." Harry didn't say anything. "It's like I told you before. You're all I have...."    
   
Dean sought out one of Harry's hands with his, but Harry drew away. "Just be quiet." With a melancholy glance, Dean let his hand drop. "Every time. Cry, cry, cry. That's all you do."    
   
Stricken, Dean turned away and began to weep.  

 

Each sob was a blow against Harry's will and heart. At last he took a deep breath and dictated, "Stop. ... Please. You... you have no idea what effect you have on me."    
   
"Why are you like this to me?" Dean whispered. "I... I don't understand. I need you, Harry. I need you like I need air. I'd do anything for you, but you still treat me this way...." Dean folded his arms across his chest and took a shuddering breath. "Do you hate me, Harry?"    
   
"What if I did?" he mused.    
   
"I would fall apart," Dean whispered. "I would have no reason to be." He waited for some kind of reassurance that it wasn't true, that it would never be, but it didn't come. He bowed his head. He should've known better than to expect such a display from Harry.    
   
Instead, he took a few steps toward the park with a giant tree in the middle and arched his head to gaze up its height. "If I could be as open as you," he pondered, "I would consider myself lucky."    
   
"Please let me in," Dean wept. "Please. Together we might be able to bear this cruel world."    
   
Harry was a freak. Dean was also a freak. Maybe Dean had a point, he thought. Harry approached him and brushed a finger below his green orbs. "Perhaps... that might be..." he mused before stepping away again. Dean blinked, and wet his cheeks again with tears as Harry walked away -- and then hurriedly followed, for Dean had nothing else in the world.  

 

After a few moments, they found themselves walking down the playground again. Endlessly, Harry was haunted by his childhood ostracization -- but he resolved to battle it alone, as he had all his life. Dean could not know. No one could. It was his burden alone to bear.    
   
All the same, Dean seemed to notice. He looked at Harry cautiously for a moment before murmuring, "Harry? Is... something wrong?"    
   
"Dean... it's..."    
   
And at that moment everything came together, all of the magic and the hurt that had been building that day, and he locked his windows to his soul with his and whispered, "You can tell me."    
   
It was like a floodgate burst, or some barrier of fear had been struck down. Harry shook his head and everything came out at once. "I wasn't... people weren't very... fond of me. I just didn't belong there. I was a child. I didn't have a choice. I had to live with their scorn.... It's just something that happens... when you're like me. It burns... did they ever know that? That it hurts...."  

 

Dean listened silently and solemnly. At last, when all the words had left Harry and he was at a loss for words, Dean reached out to him and took a deep breath to whisper back, "I... Harry, that's... that's something I've felt too. My childhood ostracization... sometimes, sometimes I remember it again, and it hurts... just like that. ...You're not alone, Harry." Dean brushed his fingertips against Harry's arm. Harry's eyes began to burn, and he abruptly pulled Dean into a fierce embrace. Dean's eyes widened at first, but then he too felt overwhelmed by emotion and succumbed to the warmth of Harry's touch.    
   
"You," Harry whispered, his breath hot on Dean's ear. "As long as you're here, I... I can make it."    
   
"Harry..." Dean laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, pushing him lightly so that they parted enough to look each other in the eye. "The truth is, I... feel the same way about you."    
   
Harry tilted his head forward, pressing their foreheads together, and whispered, "What is it, Dean? Have you... been in pain, too?"    
   
"Harry, it's..." Dean took a shuddering breath and whispered, "It's just... I'm just no good, Harry. I can never do anything right.... I guess, I'm sorry. I just ruin everything. I'll probably ruin this.... I... forget it. I just can't..."    
   
Harry placed his hands on Dean's cheeks, stroking his cheekbone as he soothed, "I... Dean, that's... that's something I've felt too. My legacy of failure... sometimes, sometimes I remember it again, and it hurts... just like that. ...You're not alone, Dean." Harry brushed his fingertips against Dean's arm. They held each other as tears trickled down cheeks and dripped onto the  sand of the playground to be erased by the playing children. Their pain dissipated by  the laughter from the children in the setting sun, where dark clouds began to loom into sight.  

 

They basked in each other's quiet companionship for a few moments. 

"Mm. Sunset."    
   
Harry lifted his head at Dean's words to behold the dying sun's flaming radiance. But even as he replied, "Mm," the onyx clouds looming on the horizon worried him. "My hunter, those clouds look bad. Let's go back."    
   
Dean looked at him with such wretched windows to his soul and asked, "Just a few moments more? I don't want it to be over yet."    
   
"Just a few more moments," he relented.    
   
They were unprepared for how swift, how brutal the coming storm was. The rain poured in torrents. Winds whipped about them and kept them from moving on the shifting sands from the playground Soaking, shivering, they fought against the storm.    
   
"Harry!" Dean screamed against the wind. "Please, don't let go!"    
   
"I won't!" Harry shouted back, his hand clasping his firmly as Harry struggled upward on the playground. "Trust me, Dean!"    
   
"I'm so sorry!" Dean sobbed. "I never should've asked--"    
   
His next words were drowned out by the crash of thunder and lightning. A lightning strike  knocked against Harry's side with incredible force, and in the moment he was stunned by the blow, he felt those calloused fingers slip through his.    
   
Harry came to his senses, and he found himself alone on the playground.    
   
"Dean!!" he screamed. Without hesitation, Harry he searched everywhere. The waves of loneliness and emptiness tossed and rolled without mercy; Harry could hardly keep himself afloat within his own thoughts. But the sight of that atramentaceous hand barely sticking from a bush kept him moving forward.    
   
For a sickening moment, those fingers disappeared from the bush. 

 

"NO!!!" Harry bellowed before a mouthful of water from the rain choked his voice and brought him back to his senses. He dove to the bush with speed.  The sky was dark and it stung his eyes to concentrate, but he could see Dean, his chest falling and rising like a falling flower petal in spring. With a flurry of energy, Harry shot forth and grasped Dean's limp hand, 

Sputtering and choking, from the rain Harry caught his breath while struggling to keep Dean breathing. The cold and turbulent weather was beginning to take its toll; he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep them alive.    
   
Dean sputtered and seemed to rouse. "Harry ... ...?" he murmured hoarsely.    
   
"Hold on, Dean," Harry gasped as he put forth all his energy into fighting the storm.  to bring Dean to safety "Hold on..."  

 

A day later. 

"He had too much water in his lungs and the lightning strike didn’t help either," the doctor told Dean. "He pushed himself too hard on too little air. I'm sorry. He gave his life for you. He didn't make it."    
   
Wracked with guilt and pain, Dean buried his head in his hands and sobbed. 

  

Three days later 

He tried to hide it, but he had a good heart."    
   
"I wish I'd known him better. I wish I'd seen the person who would sacrifice his own life to safe another."    
   
"He was an important member of our team. We couldn't have done what we did without him."    
   
Dean sat on a chair by the coffin, his hands around his knees, his globes dry, his soul too numbed to grieve. The funeral attendees -- And who knew there'd be so many to come to pay their respects? -- nodded to him as they passed. He was motionless in response.    
   
The reception lasted hours, but it seemed to Dean that it was only moments before the crowd disappeared. He picked himself off the chair and turned to look into the coffin for the first time since the funeral started.    
   
Eyes closed and still, Harry laid inside in a fine onyx suit, his hands clasped over his chest. He could have been in a very deep sleep. Dean fought the urge to reach out and nudge him awake. Harry was gone. Gone because of him. Because he loved him. Trembling, Dean leaned in and laid a single kiss on Harry's lips.  

 

Why did their love end so soon?


End file.
